


Way Too Hot

by DeanPizzaPie, faequeentitania



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam Winchester, Caring Dean Winchester, Desire, Emotional, Feels, Fever, First Time, Guilt, Hot Sex, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Injured Sam Winchester, Lust, M/M, One Shot, Power Bottom Sam Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanPizzaPie/pseuds/DeanPizzaPie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/faequeentitania/pseuds/faequeentitania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dean nurses a feverish Sam, inappropriate feelings and urges surface between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Way Too Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr RP between [beautifulmindbrother](http://beautifulmindbrother.tumblr.com) (faequeentitania/Dalekfighter1190) as Sam, and [DeanPizzaPie](http://deanpizzapie.tumblr.com) as Dean.

Sometimes, Sam really hated being right.

Tied up, hanging from a meat hook in a freezer, was one of those times.

Sam cursed and strained his legs further, trying to get enough ground under his feet to take the pressure off his arms. His shoulders ached, his hands and feet were numb with the cold, and he was nowhere nearer to getting free now than he was ten minutes ago.

“Freaking _Yuki-onna…_ ” Sam panted, his breath misting the air in front of his face and he shivered. Being slowly drained of blood by a pissed off ice ghost was not the way he thought he was going to go out. Where the hell was Dean?

Sam groaned as he strained upwards on his toes again, his calves and thighs aching as he tried to wiggle his bound wrists over the edge of the hook, with no success. He panted as his muscles gave out with exhaustion, leaving him hanging and shivering with cold and pain.

_Dammit._

* * *

The haunted mansion they’d been investigating had been converted into a restaurant about six months ago. It had quickly become popular, but just as quickly, people stopped coming. Patrons had started to turn up missing, then dead. Every one of them was drained of blood and frozen, some of them hanging off trees, others off the gables.

After looking into the history of the former owners of the mansion, he and Sam had found that one Elias Brown, had been an explorer who’d gone to chart some glaciers. it was said that when he came back, he was completely changed. Violent and isolated, he’d closed himself up in the mansion. There were rumors that anyone who ventured on its grounds disappeared. That was about a hundred years ago. Now, the missing weren’t only the subjects of rumors.

Dean had made his way to the graveyard on the grounds and found Elias Brown’s tomb. Everything had been frozen over though, so it took a lot of time and work to get the tomb open, then the casket open. He’d thought Sam would follow him, but it looked like his brother had gone inside the mansion instead. Dean was held up at the tomb by a pissed off ghost, but he eventually managed to salt and burn the bones.

Now, he was searching for Sam. He turned up nothing in the basement of the converted mansion, and was on the ground floor, calling out. He walked through the restaurant, noticing that a few table had been turned over, like there was a fight. He started to run, “Sam! Sam!”

Seeing more evidence of a struggle, Dean followed the trail of splintered furniture into the kitchen. It was empty.

”Sam!” For the umpteenth time, Dean hit the redial button on his cell, and started to turn around to make his way upstairs.

* * *

Sam wasn’t sure how long he had been there, the cold was starting to make everything hazy. He tried to keep clenching and unclenching his hands, attempting to keep the blood flow to them going; fighting off the lack of circulation on top of the threat of frostbite.

Clench. Hold. Release.

Clench. Hold. Release.

The repetitive motion helped him remain focused, helped him to concentrate on something else beside the burning pain in his limbs and the way the freezing cold was starting to creep into his clothes and make him shiver.

_Yuki-onna. Snow woman. Lured travelers trapped in snowstorms to their death._

Sam recited the facts in his head, trying to stay alert. They really thought it had been Elias Brown, but Sam knew better now. Old Elias had probably been resilient enough to survive a storm, and as a result, a yuki-onna had latched onto him somehow, possessing him maybe? Anything was possible, but all that was important now was the fact that this blood-drinking creature had suddenly decided to start freezing and draining victims again, and if Dean didn’t rescue him soon, he was going to be next on the menu.

_“Virtus tempestate mihi de te, quod ignis potestatem super te, ego interitupotestatem super te potestatem super te in lucem dedi. Atque ego proiciam vosspiritum immundum. sancta discessit, aut dissipabuntur in ignem. Precipio tibirelinquo, relinquere cogunt vos me vade et vinci.”_

Sam mumbled the banishing spell out loud, utterly useless without a sacrifice of blood and the proper sigils, but at least it was something to concentrate on.

Suddenly the lights flickered, and Sam’s heart started to race with unease.

Suddenly, she was just there, the yuki-onna, and Sam panted as he struggled against his bonds.

“Shhhh…“ it said ominously, reaching a clawed hand out for his face, and everything went black.

By the time he came to, it was gone, and the sticky feeling of cold blood running down his arms and neck made his skin crawl.

"Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, struggling weakly against the ropes but to no avail.

"Dean!” he shouted, desperate and begging anyone who would listen in the cosmic universe to help his brother find him.

 

* * *

 

The faint sound stopped Dean in his tracks. He listened, but heard nothing now. Frowning, he turned and headed back into the kitchen of the restaurant.

No one was in the kitchen. As his gaze moved around the room, he cursed. ”Sonovabitch!” and ran to the industrial refrigeration unit. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. 

Fear for Sam gnawed at him. ”Sam! You in there?” he shouted, banging the heel of his palm against the thick metal door. Though he heard nothing, he knew the sound he’d heard before was from in there, and his gut told him it was Sam.

Searching around, he grabbed a wooden chair, turned it upside down and kicked at its legs breaking one off. Grabbing the wood, he used it to jimmy the refrigerator’s door open.

Dropping the chair leg, he walked inside, weaving between the cuts of meat hanging in the freezer. Then he heard Sam. ”Here, I’m here,” he called out, moving quicker.

Seeing his brother trussed up and bleeding, another oath escaped Dean. Pulling a knife from his boot, he reached up and cut the bindings, catching his brother before Sam fell all the way to the ground. 

“Sam… you alright? Sammy?” he ran his hands over Sam’s trembling body, then took most of his weight and started to walk him out. "C’mon, one leg in front of the other,“ he urged, knowing he had to get Sam to warmth, and soon. "Help me out Sam, c’mon.”

* * *

“Dean,” Sam breathed, the sight of his brother an overwhelming relief, “You found me…”

He grunted as Dean cut the bindings above his head, and his knees buckled weakly out from under him.

He cried out a moment later, his shoulders and arms seizing with pain at the sudden change in position, and it was enough to white out his vision for a moment.

He whimpered helplessly as he leaned heavily against Dean, and he knew dimly that they were moving, Dean’s words of encouragement a warm rumble in Sam’s ear.

“Wait, wait!” he panted suddenly, drawing up short. The yuki-onna, they still had to banish it.

He pulled away from Dean, and apparently his knees didn’t appreciate it very much, because they sank out from under him again, putting him on the floor.

“Doesn’t matter…” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head to clear it. He swiped his trembling fingertips through the blood on his arms and hurriedly started to draw the sigil for the banishing spell on the floor, blinking hard in his woozy state, _“Virtus tempestate mihi de te, quod ignis potestatem super te…”_

He could feel the house beginning to shake as he started, and he fumbled to say the spell faster, make his trembling fingers and weak arms draw that much quicker, _"…ego interitupotestatem super te potestatem super te in lucem dedi. Atque ego proiciam vosspiritum immundum. sancta discessit, aut dissipabuntur in ignem…”_

He flinched as a screaming wail started, echoing in the freezer and setting his nerves on edge. He didn’t have much time…

 _"…Precipio tibirelinquo, relinquere cogunt vos me vade et vinci!”_ he raised his voice above the piercing sound and completed the last line of the sigil.

The abruptness of the silence was startling, and he could feel his ears ringing. Either from her wailing or his blood loss, he couldn’t tell at the moment, but he sighed in relief anyway. It was over.

He tilted his head weakly towards Dean, overwhelmingly exhausted all of a sudden.

“Dean…?” he slurred, before everything faded out.

* * *

“Course I found you…” Dean started when Sam stopped him and pulled away. "Goddam—" Seeing his brother sink to his knees, Dean cursed and was about to tell him not to be an idiot, he needed help. But when Sam launched into the banishing spell and the change came over the room, he realized his mistake. He’d assumed that Sam had been captured before Dean salted and burned the remains, but he hadn’t been successful. That thing was still around.

Sometimes it paid to have a nerd for a brother. Sam had figured out what was needed. Before he could give him kudos, Sam was out cold. 

Hefting Sam’s unconscious body up, Dean made a disgruntled sound. He was heavy as hell, doubly so since he was out cold. After a lot of cursing, Dean finally got Sam outside and into the car. Ducking his head inside, he started to inspect his wounds, then touched his face. He was ice cold.

He rubbed his face and hands, then got his gear into the car. ”Sam? Dude… fuck…” His brother was out of it the entire drive to the cabin.

Pulling up in front of the cabin, Dean got out and headed for the cabin. Opening the door, he headed back to the car, yanking the door open. ”Sammy, gonna be okay,” he said a few times as he got Sam out of the car, and for the second time that night, carried him, almost tripping on the porch stairs as he got him inside.

* * *

Sam came to slowly, feeling hazy and disoriented. He groaned weakly, his whole body feeling like it was filled with lead.

He tried to open his eyes, he didn’t know where he was or how he got there, but it felt like his eyelids were glued shut with exhaustion.

Sam’s memory felt like molasses, and he couldn’t seem to remember if he had just dreamed about his brother or if he had actually been there, pulling him out of that freezer.

Dean… where was Dean?

He wanted to call out, wanted to make sure his brother was ok, but could barely get his jaw to open, let alone his voice to work.

_Dean… Dean… Dean…_

His brother’s name floated around and around his head, worry gnawing at him until he slipped into unconsciousness again.

* * *

Dean had been starting a fire in the fireplace when he noticed some movement from Sam, who he’d set down on the couch. When he went to check on him, he saw Sam’s lashes flutter, and his mouth move to speak silent words. ”Save your energy, Sam. It’s gonna be alright,” Dean said, leaning over him and running his hand over Sam’s ice cold forehead. He could tell Sam couldn’t hear him.

Getting up, he built the fire higher, needing it to warm up the room. Then he headed inside, to the bedroom. Grabbing the metal rails of the headboard, he started to shove and push the bed out of the bedroom, and into the living room, in front of the fire.

Then he moved Sam to the bed, muttering, “gonna get your ass on a diet.” It took a lot of work, moving his heavy body around as he stripped Sam, then ran his hands up and down his limbs, hoping the friction would get Sam’s blood warming and moving. Then he tucked him inside.

He could hear the occasional chatter of his brother’s teeth as Sam shook with the cold. He needed body heat, and quickly. So Dean stripped down to his shorts and got into the bed. 

Spooning behind Sam, Dean wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his palms over his cold skin. ”It’s gonna be alright. I’ll have you warm soon,” he promised, sharing his body warmth, and mentally cursing at how cold Sam felt against him.

* * *

Sam woke up shivering. Deep, bone-shaking shivers that made his teeth rattle and his muscles ache. He couldn’t help the pained groan that leaked pitifully out of his throat, his whole body feeling simultaneously numb and burning with pins and needles.

At least this time he found the strength to open his eyes…

…and immediately slammed them closed again, the brightness of a fire overwhelming his vision.

Sam groaned again, white spots swimming in front of his vision.

“Dean?” he rasped, risking cracking his eyelids open the tiniest amount, light barely peeking through his eyelashes.

Jesus, he hurt.

* * *

“Right here, Sammy,” Dean answered, holding him tighter and splaying his fingers wide as he continued running his palms over Sam’s chest and stomach, trying to warm him up. "How many times have I told you not to hide in a fridge?“ he asked. Sure, the last time had been maybe 20 years ago… He was just Goddamned relieved that Sam woke up.

Moving away slightly, Dean rolled Sam onto his back Without hesitation, he lay down on top of him, just like you were supposed to when someone was suffering the effects of hypothermia. ”Once we get your body warmed up, I’ll get you something hot to drink,” he offered, searching Sam’s face. ”Look at me, Sam. You’re gonna be alright.” It was a promise and a hope.

* * *

Sam groaned as Dean moved him, his whole body protesting painfully. He risked opening his eyes a bit more now that the light of the fire wasn’t so directly in his eyes, and Dean came fuzzily into focus above him.

_“Look at me Sam. You’re gonna be alright.”_

Sam’s teeth were chattering too hard to answer, so he wrapped his arms clumsily around Dean instead, pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder. His brother felt so hot, all the places his skin touched Sam’s tingling at the feel of it.

Sam cringed at the whine that came out of his throat. He hadn’t felt this weak and pathetic in a long time, and he almost wished he’d pass out again. Anything other than feeling so painfully cold and shaky. He was in for a rough damn night.

* * *

“Try to stay awake,” Dean said, constantly shifting his legs and body, trying to share as much as his warmth as possible. "God dammit… never slept with an ice cube before,“ he groused, a shiver running through him. "Probably not the best time for a Seinfeld shrinkage joke, right?

He laughed at his own joke, then ran his hand down the side of Sam’s face, brushing his thumb back and forth over his slightly bluish lips. ”Guess you’re getting me back for all the times I put my cold feet on your stomach.” The thought of young Sam grumbling in his sleep but unable to fight him, had Dean chuckling.

His brother was resilient, tough. He’d make it through this. Dean tried not to be worried. He cracked jokes to keep his mind occupied, and off thoughts about dire consequences. It was his way.

* * *

Sam was barely listening to what Dean was actually saying. His brother was a chatterbox when he was anxious, and usually it was just a tirade of poor jokes or complaints, so he usually didn’t pay it much mind.

But he couldn’t deny how comforting the sound of that voice was. The low hum Sam could pick out if a thousand voices, the soundtrack to his life. He loved that voice.

Then Dean cupped his face and ran his thumb along Sam’s lips, a gesture so gentle and intimate that Sam’s heart tightened in his chest and he tried to focus his heavy eyes on Dean’s face.

He could feel Dean shifting, trying to rub some warmth back into Sam’s limbs, and it was making his skin tingle. With the heat of the fire and the warmth of the blankets and Dean’s body, Sam was starting to feel more like himself and less like a Popsicle.

His eyelids fluttered again, and he attempted to tighten his arms around his brother, trying to anchor himself to wakefulness.

"Dean,” he slurred, “M’so tired…”

* * *

Watching intently, Dean caught the flutter of his brother’s eyelashes even before Sam spoke, letting him know he was still awake. “I know, I know you are,” he answered, just glad to hear Sam’s voice, and to feel him tighten his arms. ”Just try to stay with me a while, until you warm up, ok?” 

He went back to caressing and rubbing Sam’s shoulders and long arms. Constantly shifting his legs against Sam’s, he kept up the chatter. ”I’ve got some whiskey. Soon as you’re a little warmer, we can have some. Unless you want some fruity spritzer drink or something, cause dude, what was that frothy drink you ordered yesterday?”

He hopped from one topic to the other, listening for Sam’s occasional monosyllable answers. Eventually, it felt to him like Sam was getting close to normal temperature, though he still felt him shaking. 

“Sleep now, Sam. You can sleep. I’ll watch over you,” he promised, settling down over Sam. "Shove me off when you’ve had enough.“

* * *

Sam let his eyes slip closed again, just listening to Dean babble on. He tried to focus on what his brother was saying and mostly failed, but he had a feeling it didn’t matter. As long as Dean stayed right there with him.

He wearily started to take stock on the shape he was in. He carefully flexed his fingers and toes, the places he knew were most likely to have frostbite. When he could feel them without any numbness or lack of movement, he relaxed a little more. One less thing to worry about.

He frowned when he could still feel the itchiness of dried blood on his neck and wrists; Dean must have been more concerned with bringing his body temperature up than cleaning him up. As long as the wounds had clotted up he supposed it didn’t really matter, but the dream of a hot shower was definitely something he planned to make a reality in the near future.

 _"Sleep now, Sam. You can sleep. I’ll watch over you,”_ Sam listened to Dean murmur quietly, _“Shove me off when you’ve had enough.”_

Sam grunted a weak affirmative and did just that…

…until he woke up in pain, who knew how much later. Sam groaned, his whole body aching and his breath harder to catch than it should have been. He could feel the sweat down his back making the sheets damp and all the places Dean was still touching him slick and uncomfortable, but still he was shivering.

He turned his head away from Dean, coughing painfully and he groaned again.

 _Pneumonia_ , the dreaded idea floated into Sam’s head unwelcomely. Shit. This was the last thing they needed.

“Dean?” he said weakly, then coughed again, his throat sore and dry. What he wouldn’t give for some hot water with honey right then.

* * *

The sound of his name getting called penetrated Dean’s sleep, but surrounded by the warmth in the bed, he was slower than usual to wake all the way up. ”Yeah baby, right there with you,” he muttered, moving his face and kissing Sam on the lips.

Sam! He was in bed with Sam, not some random chick. Not some random dude. His heart dropped clear to his stomach as he raised his head, glad that the room was mostly dark except for the fire which no longer roared as bright.

“Ah…” he rolled off Sam. "Sorry, dream.“ Almost immediately, he realized there was another problem. "Sam, you’re hot. And don’t you even…” if his brother wasn’t sick, he knew that comment on the heels of the kiss, would deserve a wise crack.

Putting his hand on Sam’s clammy forehead, he sat all the way up. ”Burning up with fever,” he said. ”You got any pain? I’m gonna get you some tylenol.”

Getting off the bed, the first thing he did was strip all the blankets off Sam. He’d been trying to warm him up before, now he needed to cool him down, fast.

* * *

Sam was struck dumb by the feeling of Dean’s mouth pressed against his.

Did that… did that really just happen…? Was he hallucinating? Was his fever that bad?

Then Dean froze up, and moved away with evident hurry, _“Ah… Sorry, dream.”_

Sam’s brain was still catching up when Dean started fussing over him, putting a hand on his forehead and running to get Tylenol.

He groaned when the blankets were ripped off, clenching his teeth as he started shivering harder, even as a bead of sweat dripped across his abdomen.

He moved to try to pull them back, groaning again at the all-over ache that was setting deep in his muscles.

“This sucks,” he whined, “Why does this crap always happen to me?”

* * *

Dean grabbed the bedding before Sam could tug it back up over him. ”Maybe because you should have stayed put and waited for me,” Dean answered, close to panicking when he saw Sam’s state more clearly. 

He put an arm around Sam’s back and helped him sit up. ”Take em,” he said pouring some pills into Sam’s hand and reaching for the glass of water. ”You’re burning up,” he said, kicking himself for sleeping so deeply when his brother felt as hot as a furnace.

He’d never seen Sam sweat like this, ever. And he was so damned pale, even with the golden glow of the firelight, Dean could see it. ”I think you need a cold bath,” he said. He knew it would be the last thing Sam wanted, but he wasn’t gonna let him burn up from fever. ”We’ve got ice in the ice chest.”

* * *

Sam chose to ignore Dean’s comment about waiting up. There were a thousand situations he could list of Dean blundering on ahead of him that he could throw back at his brother if he wanted to, but he was honestly too tired and too miserable to open that can of worms right now.

Then Dean was pulling him up into a sitting position and Sam was gritting his teeth and wincing at the all-over soreness it brought. He tilted his head against Dean’s shoulder and closed his eyes, the bare flesh of his skin soft against Sam’s cheek.

Wistfully, Sam thought back to their youth, when Dean and he would share a bed. Back when Sam was permitted to sleep curled up against his brother’s side, with the loose collar of Dean’s sleep-shirt pulled down so he could sleep with his face pressed against Dean’s skin.

Sam slid his eyes open, looking at Dean’s collarbone in the center of his vision and wishing he could do that again.

 _“Take ‘em,”_ Dean demanded, and Sam dutifully put the pills in his mouth and drank them down, grimacing at the uncomfortable scratch in his throat.

_“I think you need a cold bath. We’ve got ice in the ice chest.”_

“Hell no,” Sam said immediately, shivering at the very thought, “Dean, please, just let the Tylenol kick in and I’ll be fine.”

Sam pulled back slightly, putting on his most convincing puppy dog look as he pleaded with his brother, “Just… just get me a cool washcloth, ok? That’ll help. And I need to get the blood and sweat off me, I feel miserable.”

* * *

Taking care of Sam brought back memories of their childhood. More often than not, he was the one who stepped in and took care of Sam’s colds, aches, pains and injuries. Sometimes he’d minded, because of all the time it demanded, and it kept him from getting to do other things. But, when he recalled the times dad was around to take care of Sam’s injuries, he also recalled how often he would take over, even when he didn’t have to. He liked, maybe even needed, to be the one who took care of Sam.

At Sam’s plea, Dean looked down at him and put his palm on Sam’s forehead. Too hot. Way too hot, he decided. ”Shshsh, just lay back, I’ll take care of this,” he said. He knew that look in Sam’s eyes. Soft, asking for something from the bottom of his heart. He also knew that if his answer was a straightforward “no,” then Sam’s chin would come up, and it would be his stubbornness that Dean would have to deal with. ”Get you all cleaned up, and then you can get some sleep.”

Leaving Sam’s side, Dean went ahead and ran the bath. The place wasn’t fancy at all, and the water pressure was low, so it took a while. Gave him time to get the beers and other stuff out of the ice chest, then turn it over into the bath. 

Then he returned to the bed and pulled the sheet off Sam. Bending over, he placed his lips lightly on Sam’s forehead, recalling that was how mom used to take his temperature. ”Still burning hot,” he said, sliding an arm under Sam’s back and lifting him up. ”C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He didn’t mention the bath, but slowly got Sam to start walking. He’d carry his ass if he had to.

* * *

Sam had a moment of vertigo as Dean pulled him to his feet, and he leaned heavily on his brother for a moment as he scrunched his eyes shut and tried to will it to go away.

They made slow progress into the bathroom, and Sam dug his heels in as soon as he saw the tub of ice.

“You fuck,” Sam muttered, letting his knees buckle just inside the doorway and refusing to go any further.

“No,” he said firmly from the floor, “Don’t you read WebMD? People go into shock from being dumped in freezing water like that. So unless you’re actually trying to finish what the Yuki-onna started-“

Hard coughs interrupted Sam, and he turned his head away from his brother, clutching his chest as they erupted painfully out of his lungs. He groaned breathlessly at the end of it, and slumped back against the bathroom wall.

"Hand me that washcloth,” he repeated himself hoarsely, holding his trembling hand out, “Just help me put it on the back of my neck and on my chest and I’ll start to cool down, I promise. Dean, trust me, please.”

Sam looked miserably up at his brother, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to bed. Literal crawling would do, but he knew his brother would not budge from this bathroom until Sam’s temperature dropped down a few degrees at least. Sam just had to get it through his head that his ice-bucket method wasn’t the way to do it right now.

* * *

They had steadily been moving towards the bath when Sam suddenly refused to budge. ”Sam!” Dean snapped, almost losing his hold on his brother. He hadn’t thought Sam had that much fight left in him, but he should’ve known better.

Then then his brother was coughing and gripping his heart, and that made Dean’s clench with ice cold fear. He moved in, holding Sam up. ”Breath… small breaths,” he demanded, kicking himself for not having driven Sam straight to a hospital. 

Dean’s gaze moved to the washcloth, then to the bath, then back to Sam. ”Dude, we need to get your temperature down,” he insisted. That’s what their dad had always done, it had always worked.

Then Sam asked for his trust, and Dean just… his jaw clenched. ”Alright,” he finally answered. ”Alright, but if it doesn’t go down quick, you’re getting in the Goddamned tub.” His words were gruff, his tone was not.

Wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist, he helped him over to the toilet, using his foot to get the lid down. ”Sit here,” he said. “Hold onto the counter.” The last thing he wanted was Sam falling and hurting himself worse.

Running a hand over his face, Dean grabbed a towel. The wash cloth was too damned small. Searching around, he grabbed one of the daggers from the duffel bag near the door, used it on the towel, then tore it in half.

Tossing both halves into the ice cold water in the tub, he partially squeezed the water out of one half, and came back to Sam. “I hope I don’t regret this,” he muttered, pressing the wet towel to Sam’s neck and chest. He swore he could see the steam rise off his brother’s skin.

* * *

Sam was all but trembling with relief when Dean finally relented, hauling him over to the toilet instead and making him sit. He gratefully slung his arm up on the counter, leaning on it for support as he watched Dean rip the towel in two and throw it in the cold water of the tub.

 _“I hope I don’t regret this,”_ he heard his brother mumble, and Sam didn’t have time to come up with a snarky reply before Dean was putting the dripping towel on him.

He hissed at the uncomfortable shock of the freezing water, and was truly grateful that he had won this argument; sitting in a bath of that stuff would have been downright painful.

Sam grit his teeth and bore it, shivering and miserable. After a few long moments he couldn’t help but lean his head forward, resting it on Dean as dizziness struck him again.

Thoughtlessly, Sam raised his hand and placed it over the back of Dean’s where it was holding the towel against him.

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” he murmured, breath hitching unexpectedly. The marginal amount better he was feeling as his temperature slowly started to sink back into normal levels was countered by how pathetic he felt. It wasn’t fair that Dean always had to be the one who took care of him.

He thought longingly of the bed in the other room. Of wanting nothing more than to curl up in it, spooned up against Dean’s warmth and fall back asleep until whatever the hell this was worked it’s way out of his system.

Then he berated himself for even allowing his thoughts to go that way. He was already pushing it, the way he was touching Dean, he shouldn’t even consider wanting more than this. This was dangerous territory.

* * *

Dean gladly bore Sam’s weight, but couldn’t help noticing how hot Sam’s face felt against his shoulder. He lifted his face at the same time Sam moved, and found his mouth was way too close to Sam’s. Pulling a marginal distance away, he asked, “You alright?”

His gaze dropped to Sam’s hand over his own. As he moved the towel over Sam’s chest, Sam’s hand moved with his. If he hadn’t been his brother, if he wasn’t so hot with fever, Dean would have admitted there was definitely some sort of erotic feel to the moment, as innocent as it was.

Swallowing, he gave a nod. ”You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get you fixed up,” he promised, swirling the towel a little more, squeezing it to let water run down Sam’s chest. His fingers grazed Sam’s heated skin. 

Time seemed to stand still. It was just him, and his brother, and the sounds of their shallow breaths. He felt Sam get a little heavier. “Sammy. Sam?” Dropping the now warm towel, he pulled back and lifted Sam’s face. ”Keep your eyes open. Don’t… I swear Sam…” He pressed his lips against Sam’s forehead and pulled back. ”Just don’t.”

Taking a sharp breath, he looked down and picked up the other half of the towel. This time, he held up right under Sam’s jaw, moving it behind his neck as well. He was still burning up, and Dean felt like he was about to freak out over it, and was barely keeping a lid on it.

* * *

“Dean, quit shakin’ me,” Sam murmured, “I’m just tired, dude, relax.”

Sam rubbed a hand over his face, and shifted uncomfortably. The water dripping from the towel was starting to saturate the waistband of his boxers, turning them damp and cold.

Dean threw the other soaking wet towel on him and Sam groaned, closing his eyes against the chill it sent up his spine. He sighed as he let his brother tilt his head up to press the cold fabric under his chin and wipe down his neck.

Sam slid his eyes half-open, a little taken aback at how close Dean’s face was to his. He frowned as he looked at his brother’s features; the hard lines in his forehead and around his mouth. All pointing to Dean’s anxiety being through the roof.

"Hey,” Sam said, reaching up and cupping his hand against the side of Dean’s neck, thumb brushing just under his ear soothingly, “I’m fine.”

And he was, Sam could feel it. Between the Tylenol and the cold cloth, he could feel his temperature lowering. His head didn’t feel as foggy, his skin as tight with heat. All signs that his fever was breaking, and just in the nick of time, too. Dean looked about ready to rip the entire tub up to dump it on him.

“I’m gonna be fine. Just… make me some soup or something? My throat feels like razors, I could really use something warm.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of Sam’s mouth, and he couldn’t resist teasing, ”And as much as you love seeing me wet, I could really use a dry pair of boxers.”

* * *

Dean stared at Sam for a long moment. ”You’re not just saying that to get me off your back?” he demanded. Knowing his brother, Sam would have him making food just because he knew Dean couldn’t keep trying to bring his fever down at the same time. And it was damned clear that Sam wasn’t enjoying the process.

Unsure, he was torn between doing what Sam wanted, and what he thought was needed. Then Sam smiled, and even cracked a joke, and some of Dean’s tension eased. Only a little while ago, Sam wouldn’t have been able to muster up that smile.

“You’re right, you do look great with water dripping from your hair, and glistening over your chest. Like some pretty little mermaid, about to tip her head back and…” It was his turn to smirk, “Got that offa one of the porn blogs you’d bookmarked. Oh, look, little brother looks like he swallowed a frog.”

Chuckling, Dean relented. Grabbing a dry towel, he slowly dried Sam up the best he could, then put his shoulder under Sam’s arm and helped him get to the front room with the bed. ”Hang onto this, don’t sit,” he said, leaving Sam next to the table as he hunted for a pair of shorts. ”What happened to the one with Mickey Mouse all over it?” he asked, bringing back a pair of white boxers.

As he pulled Sam’s shorts off, he knelt down and looked up at Sam. ”Don’t ever say there’s anything I won’t do for you.” Though he was joking around, he couldn’t help but notice how well endowed his brother was. And yeah, they’d taken showers together on occasion, but this was much more up close and personal.

He pulled the shorts up real fast, suddenly feeling like his thoughts were about to take off in directions they shouldn’t. At least not about his brother. But one errant thought did slip past. If this were just some random guy, standing in front of him, his chiseled body gleaming and bathed by the golden light from the fire, with the white shorts that only emphasized his groin? Hell yeah, Dean would drag the guy into bed. He might even let the guy bang him.

Swallowing, he helped Sam to the bed. Putting a couple pillows behind his back, and giving him the glass of water, he nodded to the kitchen. ”I’ll get that… that soup you wanted.” He’d never moved to any kitchen so fast, not when cooking was involved. But he needed to clear his head of the ridiculous thoughts that kept trying to jam their way in.

* * *

 _“Don’t ever say there’s anything I won’t do for you,”_ Dean said, and Sam’s heart clenched. He knew his brother had said it to be playful, but it hit a little too close to home. Sam adored Dean with every fiber of his being, and it hurt him whenever he was reminded of how easily Dean would allow himself to bleed so Sam didn’t have to. Sam never felt worthy of devotion like that.

What made him feel even worse was wanting that statement to be true in the ways Sam ached for. In the ways that involved Dean’s mouth on his skin, and seeing his brother on his knees at Sam’s feet didn’t help with that problem _at all._

Sam found himself blushing, and suddenly Dean seemed flustered too, standing quickly and helping Sam back to bed silently.

_“I’ll get that… that soup you wanted.”_

Sam frowned as Dean hurried away into the kitchen, his brother clearly distracted.

He sipped at his glass of water miserably, watching Dean prepare the soup Sam had requested.

“Maybe I should get sick more often,” he tried to tease, to distract them both, “I’m not sure I mind this bed service stuff.”

* * *

For a long time, Dean avoided looking at Sam. He was doing everything he could to clear his mind. He was hard wired to protect, not to take advantage of, his younger brother. And yeah, maybe the thoughts running through his head didn’t hurt anyone, they were just thoughts. But they were beyond wrong, he knew that.

Sam’s voice drew him out of his reverie. ”Bed service stuff, huh?” Only after the words were out, did he realize it was the last thing he should have said. With the words came images of himself, back on his knees, worshiping his own brother’s dick. His feverishly sick younger brother brother, he reminded himself, piling guilt on top of guilt.

“Not doing anything you wouldn’t do for me. Only maybe a little gentler,” he gave Sam a look. The last time he’d been injured, Sam had jammed Dean’s shoulder back into place, and then told him to ‘man up’ when he’d winced. Course Dean gave as good as he got. It was just that this, tonight, the fever… it could be more serious than their usual injuries.

He stirred the soup, and got a bowl. As he filled it, he thought about telling Sam to move to the table. It wasn’t like they had breakfast tables or shit like that. But knowing how shaky Sam was on his legs right now, he changed his mind and decided to just feed him if he needed to.

“Scoot your ass over,” he said a little gruffly, as he walked over with the bowl and a spoon. Shit. Maybe he should have thought this through some more. Here he was back in close quarters with Sam.

* * *

_“Not doing anything you wouldn’t do for me. Only maybe a little gentler.”_

“Oh please!” Sam scoffed affrontedly, “You bitch at me when I try to take care of you nicely, don’t even go there.”

Sam needed only to point out the numerous times Dean had grumbled “I’m fine!“ when he was battered and bruised, or hell, freaking dying, for Sam to make his point. Instead he just huffed and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up his legs to pool in his lap.

He almost groaned as Dean finally came over with the soup, the smell of the hot broth making his stomach rumble. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he hadn’t eaten in probably over 24 hours until now.

"Oh man, I don’t think soup ever smelled so amazing,” Sam murmured, reaching out and taking the bowl from Dean carefully.

The first overly-hot spoonful burned the inside of Sam’s mouth, but he was too hungry to care, blowing on the hot broth haphazardly between mouthfuls.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Dean, looking up from the bowl to his brother and giving a sleepy smile, tiredness creeping up on him again. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the whole thing before the need to sleep overcame him, but he was going to make a damn good effort.

* * *

Dean raised and dropped his eyebrows in half hearted agreement that he did bitch when Sam mothered him. He guessed it was just a leftover habit, from showing his dad he was a man, that he didn’t need taking care of. It had stuck.

"You saying I’m an amazing cook?” Hey, Dean took compliments where he could get them. And he had to admit, he’d doctored up the packaged soup and it probably did taste as great as it looked. "Careful, it’s hot.“

Yeah, telling a grown man that was a bit ridiculous. Another force of habit.

He gave a half smile at Sam’s effort to feed himself, but he could see his brother was getting tired again. He let him keep going until he saw the spoon start to shake in his hand, and then he simply took over. No words needed to be exchanged, though he filed it away as potential teasing material in the future. Once Sam was clear of danger.

"At least you’ve got an appetite,” he said, trying to cover for the fact that he’d caught himself staring at Sam’s mouth. Sonova… just what the hell was going on? He needed to come to his senses, and quick. "I think you’re gonna be alright.“ You’d fucking better be alright. "But if the fever comes back, I’m driving your ass to a hospital.” The nearest one was hours away, so he’d have to cool Sam down again first.

* * *

“Considering this is the first thing I’ve eaten in over 24 hours, I’m pretty sure you could cook a shoe and I’d be thrilled to eat it,” Sam smirked at Dean’s attempt at fishing for a compliment. His brother was such a peacock, but he managed to make it charming. Sam didn’t know how he did it.

Sam took another slow spoonful of the soup, eyes fluttering closed at the soothing heat on his pained throat. Maybe he would have Dean run and get cough drops, if he was going to be dealing with a sore throat and a cough for the next few days.

He had a rather difficult time opening his eyes again after he’d closed them, exhaustion weighing him down. Suddenly Dean was taking the bowl and spoon from his hands, and Sam managed to open his eyes as his brother silently started to feed it to him.

Sam blushed but didn’t object, knowing there was a good chance he was going to end up with a lap full of soup if he tried to keep doing it for himself.

There was something weirdly intimate about someone feeding him, though. Sam wasn’t sure if it was just having Dean’s undivided attention on him, or the fact that this whole process put his brother’s hands a lot closer to his mouth than was normal for them.

His brother’s hands. Sam couldn’t help but look at them every time the spoon came up to his mouth, distracted by the callouses and scars. Each one so unique to Dean, part of the roadmap of their lives painted across his body.

Sam got caught up wondering what his brother’s wide palms would feel like spanned across his hips, and blushed deeper at the realization. He was grateful for the the distraction of Dean’s snarky threat about his fever.

“Just wake me up in a couple hours so I can take another Tylenol and I’ll be fine.” he snorted, shaking his head.

Finally the soup was done and Sam was almost asleep sitting up.

"M’so tired,” Sam sighed, rubbing his face with one hand as he slowly moved down the mattress to lay down, “You should get some sleep too, there’s no way you’re not exhausted.”

* * *

As Dean fed Sam, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being scrutinized. But he never really caught Sam looking at him or anything. Maybe it was just the situation, one or both of them felt awkward about it. He wasn’t sure and couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I will,” he agreed, giving Sam a smile. He’d left the tylenol bottle out anyway, just for that purpose.

“Alright,” Dean gave a nod and set the bowl down on the nightstand, getting up at the same time. He grabbed the sheet, and pulled it up over Sam’s shoulders. The blanket was at the bottom of the bed, but he left it there.

“I will,” he promised, running his hand over Sam’s forehead and pushing his hair back in the process. "Go to sleep."

As he walked to the kitchen with the bowl, Dean looked at his palm. It felt warm, as if he still had it on Sam’s forehead. Glancing over his shoulder at his brother, he steadfastly moved to the kitchen to wash up, and get a little to eat for himself.

About a half hour later, he walked around the bed. Toeing off his boots, then stripping off his jeans, he got under the covers. He could feel the heat emanating from his brother, even though they weren’t touching. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and forced himself to think of pure thoughts.

_Whiskey_

_Strippers_

_Dark alleys, hot grunts_

Yeah, that wasn’t working so well.

* * *

Sam woke up slowly, feeling groggy and his limbs heavy.

He opened his eyes, and the sight of Dean’s broad back so close to him almost startled him.

He watched the rise and fall of Dean’s shoulders with every breath he took, almost hypnotised by it. He thought briefly of the Tylenol bottle and the glass of water on the table, sure it was safe to take some more by now, but let the thought slip away, the desire for his brother to rest taking priority. He’d wake Dean in a little while.

Sam let his eyes slip closed again, just listening to his brother breathing and wanting nothing more than to feel the inhale-exhale of Dean’s chest against his cheek.

It had been a long time since he and Dean had shared a bed. There was a time when that had been the regular sleeping arrangement; Dad in one bed and he and Dean in the other. Sam had peaceful memories of that. Of the weight of Dean’s arm around his shoulders and his slow breathing tickling the hair on the top of Sam’s head.

Sam turned his face into the pillow as longing bubbled up inside his chest. He wasn’t sure if being sick was just making him feel sorry for himself or what, but suddenly it didn’t matter because he was sliding closer across the small space of mattress between them.

He stopped with only the smallest of distance between them, keeping himself from pressing up flush against Dean’s back with the utmost restraint. He only allowed himself to press his forehead to the top of Dean’s back, inhaling Dean’s familiar scent and telling himself he would find a way to justify this to his brother if he woke up.

 _I just need this,_ he thought desperately, _I just need this…_

* * *

Dean’s dreams were muddled. It was as if the battle that raged inside him when he was awake, continued in his dreams. Visions of his brother’s large hands gripping him tight, of his voice husky and needy, of his lips pressing insistently against Dean’s were replaced by other visions. Visions of women in skimpy clothes. Of painted nails scratching across his back, rescuing him from sinful desires. Helping him do what he was born to do, protect his brother, from everyone and everything, including himself.

Dean felt hot breaths scorching the sensitive skin of his neck. A heated touch. An invitation. The temptation of relief.

Slowly rolling over, he brought his mouth down over his bed mate’s in a hot, fiery kiss. It was uncanny, how he found it without ever opening his eyes, or completely waking. Making a soft sound, he ground his hips over his lover’s, his dick so damned hard from the torturous dreams, he could pound nails with it.

* * *

Sam lost his breath when he suddenly found Dean half over him, pressing him into the mattress with his hips and pushing his mouth insistently against Sam’s.

He didn’t know what to do. The good, logical part of his brain was yelling at him to pull away, to wake Dean up, stop this in it’s tracks before it got serious.

But then Dean did something ridiculous with his tongue and Sam all but melted into the sheets, one tentative arm going around his brother as he allowed himself to kiss back.

 _Such a bad idea, such a bad idea!_ he thought frantically, but he couldn’t get himself to stop, the deep, aching want for Dean overriding everything else.

He traced a hand along his brother’s back delicately, and almost groaned when the friction of Dean’s hips rubbed just right, sending pleasure up his spine like a shock of electricity.

It would be so easy, the distant idea of reaching between them. Of sliding his hand into the loose openings in the front of their boxers to guide their cocks out, putting them skin to skin. He could almost claim it an accident; the shift of fabric making it happen all on it’s own.

Fuck.

* * *

It was so good. So damned good. Dean deepened the kiss, put everything he had into it. He had to get rid off all this built up tension and energy. He needed to stop thinking about Sam, with his scarlet lips, and soft eyes, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Brother. Brother. Brother. Even in his dreams, the need to protect Sammy was almost overwhelming.

But somewhere along the line, maybe when the rough movements of his hips exposed more of his groin and had his cock rubbing against hot skin, or when the sounds of heavy breaths started matching the sound Sam made when he ran, everything shifted. The women were gone, and it was Sam in his arms. Sam kissing him back furiously, holding him close, encouraging him.

“Oh God… oh God…” Dean whispered, feeling like he was close. Dirty. Wrong. Bad. "Sammy, please,“ he cried out, unsure if he was begging to be freed, or for more.

The sound of his voice cut through his sleep. He stilled. His cock was still damned hard. He quickly became aware of where he was, and what he’d been about to do. Filled with horror, he rolled off Sam and sat up, his heart pounding.

* * *

Sam began to shake, goosebumps bursting out across his skin as Dean’s hips shifted, and a breathy pant caught in the back of his throat at the sudden realization that exactly what he had been so tempted to do, had happened.

 _Jesus Christ_ , he thought frantically as the opening in the front of Dean’s boxers parted just enough for a sliver of skin to be exposed, the hot flesh pressing against Sam’s belly where his own boxers had ridden low on his hips.

 _"Sammy, please,”_ Dean suddenly begged, and Sam’s entire existence ground to an airless halt.

That was _his_ name. It was _him_ Dean was begging for in his sleep while his hips rutted against Sam’s.

Oxygen rushed back into Sam’s lungs as Dean stilled, followed in short order by his heart stopping at the terrified look on Dean’s face as he scrambled away.

“Stop,” Sam said immediately, reaching for his brother and grabbing him by the arms, “You fucking move out of this bed and I will kick your ass, Dean, sick or not!”

* * *

Sam’s grip was like iron bands around his arms. Dean could still have shrugged him off. Could have shot off the bed, like he’d intended. Like he should. But somehow he was rooted in place.

His breaths were still labored. He looked at Sam’s face, and fuck, he knew. He knew Sam had heard. Had felt.

Shame and guilt washed over him. He pulled his gaze away. ”I fucked up, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with sleep and leftover lust. ”Dream. I didn’t mean… fuck.”

He took another breath. ”Go ahead. Take a swing.” He wanted Sam to, he wanted it so bad. Something needed to snap him out of this, this unnatural needs infecting him tonight. ”Go on,” he insisted, expecting to see disgust in his brother’s eyes.

* * *

“Why do you always think I want to hit you?” Sam huffed, frowning at his brother. He began to incrementally loosen his grip on Dean’s arms, mostly sure he wasn’t going to keep trying to leave the bed since Sam told him to stay put.

Sam thought quickly, painfully aware of how distraught Dean was, how self-loathing he was feeling toward himself, and he wanted to put a stop to that. This was a tangled up mess between them as it was without Dean feeling like it was all his fault, but what could he say that Dean would actually believe? That he wouldn’t dismiss as Sam just trying to salvage the situation?

Dean was a man of action, not words. Always had been, always will be, and it was this very fact about his brother that drove Sam to reach one hand up to Dean’s face, cupping it as he pressed forward to push his lips forcefully against Dean’s.

“I’m not dying,” he pulled away enough to growl between their mouths, “I could have pushed you away. I could have shook you awake, but I didn’t. I didn’t.”

He shook Dean a little for emphasis, willing his brother to listen to him, “I want you too, you idiot,” he decided to come right out and say, kissing him more gently this time before leaning his forehead against Dean’s, “I’ve always wanted you.”

* * *

What kind of question was that? Sam needed to hit him because he was a disgusting perv who had taken advantage of Sam while Sam was sick. Didn’t matter that he’d been asleep, ‘cause yeah, he’d had these thoughts about Sam all damned night. It was inexcusable. It was gonna be right there, between them, from now into forever. Everything had changed. He’d ruined the single one best thing in his life… seeing the trust in his brother’s eyes. How could Sam ever trust him again?

The sudden kiss took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, and sat there listening. Sam was making excuses, blaming himself. Himself, when he hadn’t done a damned thing, and it was all Dean’s fault. Dean felt his skin crawl. “No no no…” he started, wanting Sam to shut up, to stop blaming himself, to stop trying to make him feel better.

The hard shake had Dean’s teeth rattling together, but it got his attention. Nostrils flaring, he listened with disbelief. And then Sam’s soft lips were on his again, kissing him. This time, Dean couldn’t help himself. He responded, kissing him back, a part of him thinking this had to be a dream. That he hadn’t woken.

Then Sam was whispering again, touching his forehead to Dean’s. Saying things Dean didn’t know whether he should believe. He put his hands on Sam’s shoulders, gripping him hard. ”Sam. You. Me. We can’t…” he choked, because right there and then, he knew they could, and that he wanted it. ”Sam.”

He lifted his face, his eyes burning. Tugging on Sam, this time he slanted his mouth over Sam’s, kissing him hard, with all the confusion, all the love and hope, all the disturbing feelings and desires storming inside him.

* * *

If Sam had been standing, his knees certainly would have gone weak with the force of Dean kissing him.

He poured his heart into returning the kiss, wanting Dean to know how serious he was, how much he wanted this. He didn’t want to give Dean a shred of doubt that this was something he wanted.

Sam got lost in it; the feel of Dean’s soft, short hair under his fingers, the plush feel of his lips and the silky heat of his tongue pressing against Sam’s. He would have done this for hours, pulled Dean down on the bed and kissed him until his lips were bruised, if his lungs didn’t suddenly remind him that he wasn’t quite in the optimal condition for such a thing.

He jerked away, turning his head as far from Dean as he could and holding his brother at arm’s length as a coughing fit overtook him.

He gasped when he could finally breathe again, turning to look at Dean miserably.

“Fuck, I’m gonna get you sick,” he said hoarsely, biting his lip and tracing his thumb over Dean’s mouth gently, wishing so desperately to kiss him again, “Promise me I have more of this waiting for me when I’m better. Please.”

* * *

Dean eased his hold to let Sam cough comfortably, but didn’t let him go completely. ”I wasn’t stuck in a refrig—” he broke off as Sam dragged his finger along Dean’s lips. Catching it between his teeth, Dean gave a low chuckle and released it, listening to Sam.

He brushed the hair out of Sam’s face, pushing it off his forehead. ”If you feel the same, once you’re better, I’ll still be here.” He still struggled a little with the hows, and whys, and whether it was the right thing. But he had the feeling that nothing they did, no measures they took, would prevent them from eventually reaching this same point.

“Rest,” he ordered, kissing Sam lightly, before tucking him back down in bed. "If I grope you again, you have my permission to elbow me.“

~*~*~

They’d been there for three days, and Sam was definitely getting better even though he slept most of the time. Dean had gone out to get more supplies and was just unloading the back of the car. They hadn’t talked about what happened, and how they were going to move forward, but they’d communicated with their eyes, and nothing had changed.

* * *

Sam looked up from the computer at the unmistakable sound of the impala returning. Instinctively, he began to get up to go help, but thought better of it a moment later. He had the feeling Dean would just yell at him and shoo him back inside before he got both feet out the door anyway, so he decided not to bother to even try.

He resituated the blanket on his lap instead, and tilted his head from where he was sitting on the sofa (dressed, for the first time in three days, hallelujah) to watch his brother through one of the windows.

They hadn’t talked about things since That Night, but Sam had refused to let Dean start second-guessing himself. He tried to encourage Dean subtly, and as frequently as he could with meaningful looks and lingering touches.

Keeping his hands to himself when they were both in bed at night was exceedingly difficult, but he knew he needed to. He had been barely functioning enough to sit up and feed himself, it wouldn’t have been fair to risk revving Dean up and not being able to follow through, just because Sam was feeling needy.

Even Dean was keeping his hands to himself, despite the dream-groping that had started this whole thing. Sam was convinced it was because Dean was too nervous to sleep properly, but for right now he was going to leave it be. Things would be different when he was well.

The sound of the trunk slamming closed was loud and sharp out in the middle of nowhere like they were, and Sam admired Dean’s profile from his seat in the house. He still wasn’t 100%, but he was nearly there. His cough, thankfully, was almost completely gone, and the full body ache was reduced to a dull twinge now and then.

Finally Dean made it inside, and Sam gave him a small smile in greeting.

"How was civilization?”

* * *

Although he was loaded down with bags, Dean’s gaze immediately went to the empty bed, but now swung to the couch. He gave Sam a long look, then decided he looked well enough to get out of bed. ”You didn’t miss anything,” he answered, heading to the kitchen.

Setting the bags down, he looked back at Sam. ”You look better.” _Still a little pale, but amazing._ His eyes said what he couldn’t bring himself to, at least yet.

“I think it’s time to get a little solid food in you. Spaghetti with meat sauce?” he asked, then picked up the lettuce so Sam would see he’d brought something green just for him. "Or I can make burgers. I would have picked up some food but it would be cold by the time I got here."

He knew, sometime soon, they’d have to talk about it. The thought gave him the jitters. It was a little like the minefield he didn’t want to cross, but he knew once he got to the other side, he would feel a lot better. 

* * *

Sam’s mouth watered that the mention of spaghetti, and he smiled at the head of lettuce Dean held up. After days of playing it safe with soup and sparse sandwiches, he was dying for more significant food.

"Spaghetti sounds amazing, thank you,” Sam said with nod.

He slid his laptop to the side and closed it, then hauled himself to his feet and tossed the blanket over the back of the sofa. He watched Dean busying himself in the little kitchen as he made his way over to the table and had a seat.

His brother seemed nervous, fidgety in a way he hardly ever was and Sam couldn’t help but reach out and touch his arm gently.

“You ok?” he asked, though he could guess what was on Dean’s mind. They would need to talk about things, soon, and considering their track record with having emotional conversations, he knew it was going to be a rough process.

All he wanted was to come out the other side of this with he and Dean able to lay out everything between them; to stop pretending they didn’t want the same thing.

It would change everything.

* * *

Dean was highly aware of Sam’s every movement. Whether he looked over at him or not, he knew the instant Sam put the laptop aside and pulled the blanket off. The moment he stood, and the fact that he was walking toward the kitchen. His breath hitched a little, until Sam pulled the chair at the kitchen table out and sat.

He was trying not to show signs of nervousness, but feeling the weight of Sam’s gaze, he knew he was doing a crappy job of it.

He had the paste in the water, and was just about to cut the washed lettuce, when Sam touched him. His gaze immediately dropped down to Sam’s hand on his arm.

_Dude, you’ve been sleeping next to him, not touching him that way for days. So what if his hand is on you now?_

It didn’t mean his heart wasn’t racing. Or his mind. The things he wanted. Wrong things. The hows and whys. The freaking talk they’d have to have.

He gave a stiff nod. ”Fine. Now that you’re okay,” he added, stealing a glance before pulling away to get to work on the salad. ”Shall I get you the blanket?” The fire was roaring and the cabin was warm.

* * *

Sam shook his head at Dean’s question. He actually felt pretty decent at the moment, and sitting by the stove would help keep him warm too, “I’m ok.”

Sam’s hand slipped off Dean’s arm as his brother turned to continue making their dinner. It all felt strange, this limbo they were in. The past few days had been all but silent, save for Dean’s occasional questions about how he felt and Sam’s short responses. Anxiety had been slowly amping up in his chest over it, and he bit his lip as he thought, yet again, of how to make Dean talk about this.

 _Why do you have to be so difficult?_ Sam couldn’t help but think at Dean, sighing. Dean wrapped himself so tight in his macho, talking-is-for-chicks bullheadedness that Sam was often surprised he didn’t suffocate himself with it.

Well, now it was suffocating them both, and so help him, they were going to sort this out before they left this cabin. Preferably immediately, because Sam was tired of waiting on Dean to get his head out of his ass.

It was that thought that propelled him out of his seat, coming up behind Dean and wrapping his arms around him tightly. Sam sighed as he dropped his head down onto Dean’s shoulder, face pressed against the warm side of his neck, and instantly relaxed by the smell of his brother’s cologne.

“So…” he drawled in Dean’s ear, “You gonna stop acting like you’re afraid of your own shadow around me, or what?”

* * *

Highly aware of Sam’s every movement, Dean was wary from the second Sam got up and out of his chair. He was going to offer to get him whatever he needed, but before he had the chance, Sam wrapped his strong arms around Dean.

Dean stiffened. Afraid to feel Afraid of the thoughts and needs that coursed through him. Afraid to fuck up their relationship. He took a deep breath, his stomach tightening as Sam pressed his face against Dean’s neck in a gesture reserved for lovers, not brothers.

He didn’t know what was coming. And the knife he’d been holding slipped out of his nerveless fingers. And then Sam was whispering in his ear, his hot breath fanning across Dean’s sensitive skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not afraid of anything,” Dean automatically answered, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. But he was lying, and they both knew it. "Why don’t we… lemme finish making your dinner,“ he said, his voice a little thick with emotion. It would be better to get it over with now, he knew it, but he wasn’t sure how to go there. Not really.

* * *

_"Why don’t we… lemme finish making your dinner.”_

Sam growled, manhandling Dean around to face him in a burst of anger and caging him against the counter.

“No. Now.”

A part of him that he did not like to admit to was more than a little pleased at the mix of shock and borderline terror on Dean’s face at Sam’s aggression.

 _Good,_ Sam couldn’t help but think with mean satisfaction, _About time I had your attention._

“Just cut the _crap_ , Dean. Stop treating me like I’m a bomb about to go off and stop trying to guilt yourself over this. It happened. It’s something we both want. I’m so fucking _sick_ of feeling guilty for the things I want in my life. And I’m so fucking sick of feeling guilty for wanting you. So the least you can do is look me in the eye and talk to me about this because I am tired of tiptoeing around it like it’s going to break us.”

* * *

As he was unexpectedly whirled around, Dean swallowed hard, searching his brother’s face. He’d known that Sam was getting impatient, but Dean was used to being the one who decided what they’d do and when. So he was shocked into silence when Sam took the bull by the horns.

He took a couple deep breaths, fear curling in his stomach. Not the sort of fear he was used to when his life was threatened. This was fear that he was going to fuck something up, and his life, their lives hanged in the balance.

“Sam…” he started to raise his hand as Sam told him to cut the crap. He was feeling seriously penned in, with Sam standing there like a solid wall, his hands on either side of Dean, on the counter. Licking his lips, he listened to his brother, blanching slightly at his bluntness.

He looked up at Sam. ”I’m trying. I’m trying, Sammy,” he whispered, willing his brother to believe him. He’d been so busy nursing his own guilt, he hadn’t realized Sam was struggling with this too. ”Look, I want… But I don’t know how. How’s this gonna work?” He lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, the motion pushing him slightly up against Sam. ”Maybe if we, if we got the kiss out of the way.” His lips burned for it, and he had to think getting physical would drive his worries out of his mind.

* * *

Of all the things he was expecting his brother to say, asking for a kiss was not one of them.

“You’ve been avoiding me like the plague for days,” he said flatly, “God, you are so-”

_Unbelievable. Stupid. Batshit fucking crazy-_

"Idiot,” he huffed instead, before putting both his hands on the sides of Dean’s face and hauling him in for a kiss. Sam shivered as the momentum pushed their bodies together, pressed tight from chest to thighs, and Dean’s heat bled through their clothes.

Reflexively, he pressed closer, his skin still craving warmth and his heart just craving Dean.

* * *

Denial died on Dean’s lips as Sam abruptly captured his face with his large hand, and pulled him closer. The instant Sam slanted his mouth across his, Dean parted his lips for his brother. _Dirtybadwrong_ was suddenly not in the equation, not when Sam’s tongue was invading his mouth and sending heat spiraling through Dean’s system.

Their bodies collided, and suddenly all Dean could think of was getting even closer. For days, and nights, they’d been close, within touching distance. Thoughts of what would happen once Sam was better had both plagued and tortured him relentlessly. And somehow, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to the bathroom and take care of his needs, so they’d built up, and would no longer be denied.

Groaning, he grasped Sam’s hips, aligning their bodies, stepping forward so one of his legs pressed between Sam’s legs. He kissed Sam back with everything he had, his tongue chasing Sam’s, learning how his brother tasted. Knowing, for this, to be with Sam, he’d walk through fire.

* * *

Sam felt overwhelmed. The sudden, unrepentant ferocity of Dean’s kiss knocked him completely off guard and was threatening to turn his knees into noodles.

Then Dean pressed his thigh between Sam’s legs and he really did have a moment when he thought his knees would rebel against him and buckle completely.

“Jesus Christ,” he slurred against Dean’s mouth, his hands going from Dean’s face to around his shoulders tightly, holding on for dear life. Heat raced up his spine at the insistent press of his brother’s firm thigh against his cock, and his heart raced inside his rib cage. Then Dean did something incendiary with his tongue, and Sam couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping his throat.

“If you do not get your hands on me right now, I swear to god-” Sam pulled his mouth far enough away to growl, fisting his hands in Dean’s shirt. He was tired of this game of keep-away, he wanted Dean and he wanted him now.

Fuck it, food could wait.

* * *

“My hands _are_ on you Sammy,” Dean answered, tightening his grip on his brother’s hips. But he knew what Sam wanted. What they both needed.

"Bed. Now,” he ground out, using his body to push Sam towards the bed. As they maneuvered out of the kitchen, he groped his brother’s ass and back, and held him close when he needed to kiss him, and shoved him when he needed him to get to the bed faster. He wasn’t sure if he was coming or going. All he knew was that he wanted Sam. Bad.

When the back of Sam’s knees hit the bed, Dean pushed him. Watching as he fell onto the bed. He started stripping his shirt off. His brother was flushed. ”If you have a fever again, I swear to God Sammy,” he ground out, unsure whether he’d be angry that Sam had rushed things, or because they’d be cheated out of this moment.

* * *

Sam was usually the one who did the manhandling when he went to bed with someone. He was just a passionate person, he couldn’t help it. But now, having Dean pushing and pulling and pawing at him, he was surprised to find he didn’t mind the tables turned on him for once.

Sam was panting by the time he hit the bed, watching Dean strip off his shirt with rabid attention. He’d seen Dean in various states of undress their whole lives, but he’d never imagined he’d see it in this context. Dean was perfect.

 _“If you have a fever again, I swear to God Sammy,”_ his brother growled at him, and Sam groaned with exasperation.

“Jesus Christ, will you stop mother-henning me and just fuck me already?” Sam huffed, working on his own clothes. He dumped his sweatshirt and t-shirt over the side of the bed unceremoniously, certainly not feeling cold now, with the way Dean had been touching him.

Speaking of, he needed more of that.

He pushed up and grabbed Dean, pulling him down on top of him on the bed. He pressed his mouth immediately to Dean’s throat and his hands to Dean’s beautiful back; running his open palms down the length of him and tracing the indent of his spine with his fingertips.

Sam groaned as he pressed his hips up against Dean’s, rubbing them together through layers of denim but fuck if it wasn’t still good.

 _I love you_ , his lust-addled mind rang out. Sam almost said it, but he kept his mouth full of Dean’s neck instead, kissing and nipping gently at the warm skin.

He felt love-drunk and tingly all over, with the feel of Dean’s skin against his and his mouth full of Dean’s taste; fuck, he’d wanted this for so long.

* * *

“I know, it’s not like you were on the verge of death or anything,” Dean ground out, brushing Sam’s irritation aside. His eyes locked on his brother as Sam lost his clothes, revealing a broad expanse of smooth skin and rippling muscles.

Before he drank his fill of the sight, Sam tugged him down hard. As Dean settled down on top of Sam, he didn’t have a single complaint. Not when his brother’s mouth was moving along his neck and wreaking havoc with his senses.

His brother’s hands moved down over his back and hips, molding him closer, sending heat flooding straight to Dean’s cock. Moaning softly, Dean ground his hips against Sam’s, meeting his thrusts, and wishing the rough material separating them was gone.

He let Sam have his way for a few minutes, and then he sought out his mouth and kissed him. He held one hand on the side of Sam’s face, holding him in place, as he explored every corner of his hot, silky mouth. Every time doubt crept in his mind, all he had to do was lift his head and look down into Sam’s eyes, glowing with love, and he knew, knew this was alright.

* * *

Sam’s mouth tingled with Dean’s kiss, and his eyes fluttered open every time Dean pulled back; absorbing the way his brother looked above him to ingrain into his mind forever.

“Please,” he finally whispered, hand reaching up to pet the back of Dean’s head gently, fingers brushing the soft strands of his hair. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, he just knew he wanted more. More of Dean’s skin, his mouth, his warmth.

“Anything…” he promised against Dean’s lips, one hand still gently stroking Dean’s hair and the other sliding down to his ass. He gave a soft moan as he squeezed one cheek in his hand through the denim, using it to pull Dean’s hips tighter to his and humping up wantonly.

The idea of Dean fucking him like this- pressed tight inside him and his brother’s stomach taunt and perfect for Sam to rub off against- made shivers burst down Sam’s spine and a whine leak from his mouth.

Clumsily he tried to get his hands between them, needing these pants off _now_.

“Need to feel you,” he panted, “Need to feel you in me…”

* * *

God, it felt so good, the way Sam was pulling him down and thrusting up against him. His brother’s movements were getting more frantic, and it just wound Dean up on the inside. He tried to concentrate on kissing, but the rest of him was catching fire.

Then Sam spoke the words. Plainly told him what he wanted, needed. Dean’s sharply indrawn breath was audible. He’d known where this train was going, course he had.

Swallowing, he gave a nod, one hand moving up Sam’s side, caressing him. ”Need you too, need to be inside you,” he admitted, though he stammered slightly, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face.

Lifting up, he pushed Sam’s hands aside. Then he untied Sam’s sweats, and pulled them off him in one quick motion. His gaze lingered on Sam’s erection, as he peeled his shorts off.

“Jesus Sam,” he practically growled at the sight of his naked brother. He licked his lips and unbuttoned his pants, then got off the bed to get rid of them. His eyes never left Sam’s, moving over his body, but always going back to meet his gaze.

Once he was free of his clothes, he dropped back on the bed, closed his arms around his brother, and pushed his knee between Sam’s legs. He pressed his thigh and hip firmly against Sam’s raging hard on, and kissed him furiously, slowly setting himself free, allowing himself to take what he needed, what they both wanted.

* * *

Sam wasn’t sure when he had started trembling, but Dean pulling back and completely stripping him of his clothes made it all that much more acute.

“ _Jesus Sam_ ,” Dean said in a growl, eyes sliding all over Sam’s exposed skin, and Sam had never felt more wanton. He bit his lip and squirmed on the bed as Dean pulled away to get rid of his pants, and Sam looked back at Dean’s strong, broad body just as ravenously.

He whined as Dean finally settled back over him, pressing his thigh between Sam’s legs, giving him something to grind against.

“You’d better have lube stashed somewhere,” Sam panted, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist and pulling them tighter together, wanting to feel Dean’s hot thickness against him as much as he wanted the friction against his own dick, “It’s been too long since I’ve done this to handle just spit.”

It occurred to him as soon as he spoke that Dean might die of shock at such an announcement; he knew his brother perceived him to be a giant prude, but it certainly wasn’t true. Sam just had a record of being more selective about his partners than Dean; didn’t mean that his time at Stanford was completely chaste until Jess.

Sam kissed his neck in the hopes of deferring any questions Dean might have about it until later. He didn’t mind sharing his sexual history, but bringing up exes while you were aiming to get pounded sounded rather counter-productive.

Sam hummed as he followed the pulsing artery in Dean’s neck with his mouth, tasting his brother’s heartbeat against his lips and tongue. It was intoxicating, this intimacy, and Sam just wanted more. He wanted everything.

* * *

 _Too long._ Too long since when? Since who? Dean couldn’t help wondering since he’d never seen Sam with a guy. And sure, he himself had been with some, and Sam was probably not aware of it, but then he was a slut and Sam was… well, Sam.

Maybe his brother guessed that he would have stopped everything to ask a few questions, because Sam seemed to redouble his efforts to keep Dean’s attention. As his mouth moved over Dean’s neck, sucking on his sensitive skin and playing with his pulse point, Dean gave a soft groan of pleasure. Yeah, Sammy had his entire attention. How could he not?

Lifting up a little, he looked down into the depth’s of his brother’s eyes. There was so much emotion there. So much need. Dean knew it had to be a reflection of his own eyes too.

He ghosted his lips over Sam’s, then started to move down his neck, and chest. Eventually, he brought his mouth over Sam’s nipple, tongued it a few times until it was a tight bud, then sucked on it hard. His hands roved over Sam’s body, gently, but possessively. Everything changed today. Everything.

* * *

Sam squirmed with a choked little sound as Dean sucked his nipple, the sensation doing weird things in his belly. He’d never had someone pay much attention to that part of him before, and it was a strange sensation.

“Stop teasing,” Sam ground out, reaching one hand for Dean’s head as the other gripped his arm, sliding down his bicep and around the curve of his elbow, “You gonna fuck me or what?”

Sam slid his fingers through Dean’s short strands, his brother’s hair slightly stiff from the product he put in it to keep it perfectly tasseled. Sam would work that away quick enough.

“Dean…”

* * *

Dean’s lips parted in surprise. He stared at Sam for a long moment, his mind registering how Sam tugged at him, how tense he felt under him. Tense and needy and wanton, and fuck if Dean’s body wasn’t reacting in kind.

Thoughts of fucking him, like he was asking, tortured Dean. If Sam kept this up, it was exactly what he would get. But Dean wanted to give him something else.

“No,” he managed, knowing it wouldn’t take much to make him relent. "I’m gonna make love to you, Sammy. All of you. So quit making it impossible,“ he growled, grabbing Sam’s wrists, and pressing them into the mattress above his head.

Straddling Sam’s thighs, he bent, starting over. Kissing him on the mouth, taking his time to explore every corner. Then he brushed his mouth over Sam’s face, tracing his jawline, and licking a path down his neck. As he moved lower down Sam’s chest, he scraped his teeth lightly over his tight skin, then kissed him better.

His own blood pounded at his temples, demanding he take Sam now. Fast and hard, and fuck if his cock wasn’t so hard it was painful. Giving a low growl, he forced his own needs back, and moved his mouth back to Sam’s nipple, licking it, kissing it, and moving to his other one.

It was torture, but he slowly made his way down to his brother’s flat stomach. Releasing his wrists, he gripped Sam’s hips, pulling him slightly off the mattress as he kissed, and rubbed his mouth over his abs, memorizing every plane and dip, sometimes brushing against Sam’s hard cock.

* * *

" _‘Make love_ ’?” Sam laughed incredulously, “Are you _high_?”

Then Dean was kissing him rather intently on the mouth, Sam’s wrists held tight in his hands, and Sam decided he would allow whatever insane notion that had gotten into Dean’s head carry on. For the moment.

Sam twisted his wrists in Dean’s grasp restlessly as his brother worked his way down his body, Dean’s hot mouth leaving shivers in its wake.

The instant Dean’s hands released his wrists, Sam grabbed Dean’s arms, tensing as his teasing lips rubbed against Sam’s abs and making the muscles twitch.

The scruffy underside of Dean’s chin suddenly brushed the tip of Sam’s cock and Sam jerked, growling at the sensation.

Suddenly he was moving, wrapping his knees around Dean’s chest throwing his weight to the side. He rode the momentum until he was the one on top, straddling Dean and panting.

“Not gonna break. Stop treating me like I’m glass,” he growled, mashing his lips against Dean’s and biting his lip.

He’d waited too damn long for this, his nerves couldn’t handle some romantic “slow build” crap right now.

He got up abruptly, leaving the bed to root through Dean’s bag, already knowing exactly where the lube was. He knew everything about him.

He walked back toward the bed, his eyes scanning down Dean’s body hungrily before he raised one leg up onto the edge of the mattress. Making sure Dean was watching exactly what he was doing, he flipped the cap on the lube and squeezed some onto his fingers, coating them liberally before reaching behind himself and pressing a finger slowly in.

“As usual, I’m left doing all the work,” he couldn’t help but smirk, then bit his lip at the feeling of his finger shallowly penetrating his tight hole. _Jesus_ it had been ages since he did this. He’d almost forgotten how good it could feel.

* * *

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean snapped, and continued his efforts to _make love_ to Sam. He was careful, and gentle with his brother, wanting to give him pleasure and to be sure not to hurt him. Sam might think he was fine, but just a few days ago it had been touch and go.

He felt Sam tense again. ”C’mon, Sam—” Before he could tell Sam to cut it out, he found himself on his back, looking up at Sam. The heat in Sam’s eyes, the way he ground out his order to stop treating him like he’d break, lit Dean on fire. He was ready for that kiss, cupping the back of Sam’s head as their tongues tangled and warred. He wasn’t quite out of breath when Sam abruptly left him.

His body ached with need. Eyes narrowing, his gaze followed Sam, lingering for a moment on his firm ass giving him so many Goddamned ideas. He lifted his head a little to see what Sam was doing in his stuff. Ah.

He licked his lips. The air was punched out of him when Sam lubed himself right next to him. ”Jesus Sammy,” he choked out, watching Sam’s finger disappear into his hole.

“That’s cuz you’re impatient,” Dean shot back. Heat curled low in his stomach as he continued to watch Sam’s ‘show.’ "Got something for you,“ he said, spearing his tongue and reaching for Sam. Course his cock would prove much more satisfying, and with the rush that Sam was in, Dean wouldn’t be surprised by that choice.

* * *

"No,” Sam ground out, stopping Dean’s hand with his free one and pushing him back. Panting, he slid his slick fingers out of his hole as he shoved Dean down onto his back and straddled him, releasing his brother’s hand to push his fingers in the thick hair on the top of Dean’s head.

“You had your chance to manhandle me, now it’s my turn,” he growled, reaching down between them and taking Dean’s cock in a tight grasp. He bit his lip as he stroked the hot length, the lube still clinging to his fingers making it easy and so, so pretty.

Heat shivered down his spine at how hot it was; holding big, tough Dean down and taking whatever pleasure Sam wanted from him. A sudden moan slid from his throat and he rose up to align Dean’s cock with his hole.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he pushed down in a slow, steady shove that made every muscle tremble. He stopped when he was flush with Dean’s hips, his ass squeezing spastically around the thickness pressed inside him, “Fucking hell.”

* * *

Dean raised a brow, at first thinking his brother was putting on an act and would quickly relinquish control to him. But he was wrong. The gentle moose wasn’t so gentle in bed. How had Dean not known that?

It surprised him to find he didn’t mind. That he liked seeing Sam like this, hot, sexy and commanding. He had a feeling he’d do whatever Sam wanted, when Sam wanted it.

His body arched up off the mattress even with Sam’s weight on him. The firm, perfect strokes of his fist over Dean’s hard flesh had Dean’s fingers grasping at the bedding as he watched his brother in action. And fuck if that little bite lip of his didn’t get to Dean. ”Sam…. fuck….” The way Sam was playing him, Dean could barely think straight, and he had a feeling it was just what Sam wanted.

Just as he reached for his brother, Sam moved again. ”Wait—” he breathed, but little brother wasn’t listening to him anymore. Dean bit his lower lip as Sam lowered himself over his cock. His brother was slick, and warm and so fucking tight around him, Dean groaned out his pleasure. Another warning for Sam slow down didn’t even make it past his lips, Sam had already taken every inch of him inside.

He locked gazes with Sam, heat building inside him, the urge to thrust sharpening by the second. He grabbed Sam’s hands, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t dare ask whether Sam was alright. He just let him adjust to his thickness, giving a sharp exhale of breath each time Sam squeezed his inner muscles around him.

His fingers tightened around Sam as he tried to control his urges, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. ”Sammy,” he whispered thickly, pleading with his eyes.

* * *

Sam’s heart panged when Dean took his hands, interweaving their fingers and fuck; he never would have pegged Dean for a move like that.

It was unspeakably hot, and his brother’s whispered, " _Please_ ” just made Sam’s head swim with how much he wanted this. How long he’d been waiting for this.

“I got cha,” Sam panted, giving Dean’s hands a reassuring squeeze and quirking his lips in a small smile, “I got cha.”

Slowly, Sam lifted his hips, groaning at the feel of Dean’s thickness moving inside him. His legs were trembling already, and he wasn’t sure how long he could do this, but goddammit he was going to go as long as he could.

With a shudder of pleasure, Sam stopped with just the tip of Dean’s cock still inside before sliding back down; faster this time and the feel of it made his cock twitch.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Sam moaned, tilting his head down and closing his eyes; concentrating on the sensations ricocheting through his body. Steadily he built up a rhythm, leaning back and searching for that sweet spot that would make the tight slide that much better.

* * *

“Fuck yeah,” Dean echoed, keeping up with Sam’s rhythm, his eyes rolling back a little when Sam clenched tight around him. “Fuckkkk…”

His fingers clenched around Sam’s. He watched his brother closely, the way his head rolled forward. The way his lips parted as he breathed in, and the way his teeth scraped over his lower lip. His expression was one of pure ecstasy, and it was etched in Dean’s mind.

Releasing one hand, he ran his hand up Sam’s thigh to his hip, gripping it tight. He was worked up, on the edge of ‘fuck, I need more,’ and ‘let this go on forever.’ His control was starting to slip, and he started to lift his hips, and pull Sam down harder on his cock, penetrating his brother as deep as he could go.

His labored breaths were audible. A sheen of sweat covered him. “Sammy,” he groaned, his jaw clenching for a moment as he tried to keep from spinning out of control. “Oh… fuck,” he grit out, moving like a whipcord, sitting up, fucking into Sam a few times, before rolling both of them over. The world was a blur, but Dean was on top, fucking Sam hard, and fast, his focus on his brother, his movements geared to his Sam’s prostate, to give him what they both needed.

* * *

Sam gasped as suddenly the world shifted, Dean’s body surging up and twisting, putting Sam flat on his back before he even knew what hit him. Under normal circumstances, he knew Dean would be appalled by Sam’s lack of quick reflexes, but normal circumstances didn’t involve Dean pounding Sam into the mattress with his cock.

Sam stared up in a lust-addled daze at his brother, who was absolutely beautiful with the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the soft planes of his skin. Dean was always beautiful, but Sam never dared to dream how seeing him like this would feel like a kick to the chest.

“Fuck,” he panted, arching as Dean jerked his hips, hard, setting a ruthless pace that left Sam reeling. He wouldn’t last like this, he couldn’t; not with the way Dean was nailing him right where it counts and making him see white.

“Dean… fuck… gonna…” he was barely able to breathe, grasping at Dean blindly as an overwhelming surge of pleasure washed over him in an intense, hot rush that bowed his spine and took the air from his lungs.

* * *

Despite the storm brewing inside Dean. Despite the desperate need that drove him to keep going, faster and harder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean permanently registered the way his brother was looking up at him now. Eyes fuzzy and soft, out of focus, but still clinging to Dean. Trust. Adoration even. Things he maybe didn’t deserve, but couldn’t live without.

Even as Sam choked out a warning, Dean pushed him just that little bit harder. They were competitive and pushed each other outside of bed, no reason it would be any different inside. “Do it,” he ground out, giving Sam permission even as his body seized up. “Fuck….” Giving a few sharp thrusts before heat exploded inside him and he was shouting Sam’s name from the top of his lungs.

When he collapsed over Sam, he drew in a few ragged breaths. He could feel his brother’s… brother’s… heart beating against his chest. It should be freaking him out, but he’d gotten used to the notion. Adjusted to the reality of what was between them, not what should be.

Lifting his head, he skimmed his mouth over Sam’s. “You okay, little brother?” he asked. “Not gonna faint on me or anything, are you?” That wouldn’t be so bad. It would give him something to smirk about for a long time.

* * *

The weight of Dean’s body was the only thing grounding Sam to reality. Every millimeter of space where their skin pressed together was acute and vivid to Sam’s senses, while the rest of him felt heavy and floating at the same time. He had almost forgotten that he could feel this way.

Dean’s soft question pulled his focus, and he nipped sleepily at Dean’s lips as they ghosted over his, “No, you conceited bastard. M’fine.”

His voice was low and slurry, he knew, but in that moment he didn’t really care. He just cared that Dean stayed exactly where he was for a little while longer. Weakly, he wrapped his arms tighter around his brother the best he could, nuzzling along Dean’s jaw and down his neck. Even sweaty and covered in come, Dean smelled good; his strong, natural male scent mixing mouth-wateringly with his cologne. Sam could inhale that scent forever.

 _Forget heaven_ , he thought contently, _this is what I want for the rest of eternity._

* * *

Dean chuckled at the deserved insult. “You are. You really are _fine_ ,” Dean answered, his voice dripping with innuendo.

He would have rolled off to give Sam some breathing room, but Sam’s arms tightened around him. He obeyed the silent request, shifting only a little to make them more comfortable.

He felt Sam’s firm lips and nose pressing against his neck, and he smiled. “Alright Sammy, I’ll give you your chick flick moment,” he whispered hotly against Sam’s ear, before kissing him again. Slowly. Lovingly. The way his heart wanted him to.

* * *

_“You are. You really are fine.”_

Sam snorted at the stupid come-on, cuffing Dean gently on the back of the head, “You’re an idiot.”

Then Dean was making himself comfortable, and Sam pressed his mouth a little softer against Dean’s neck, feeling his brother’s pulse thrumming under his lips.

_“Alright Sammy, I’ll give you your chick flick moment.”_

Sam would have protested the jab, but Dean chose that moment to kiss him, sweet as sugar and Sam let himself melt into the delicious sensation of Dean’s mouth instead.

Slowly the kiss tapered off until they were pressed forehead to forehead, sharing the same warm air between their mouths in the quiet afternoon.

Finally, Sam’s hips started to ache from being spread open for so long, and he gently nudged Dean to get off him.

* * *

Taking the hint, Dean carefully lifted off his brother, and rolled onto his back next to him. Looking up at the ceiling, he took a few deep breaths, then turned his head toward Sam.

He knew he should feel guilty about what they’d just done. But looking at Sam’s relaxed, blissed out face, he knew that guilt would be a wasted emotion. It wasn’t like there was a force on earth, other than his brother himself, that would stop this from happening again.

e licked his lips and waited for Sam to meet his eyes. Then he whispered, “No regrets.”

* * *

After Dean carefully moved to the side, Sam moved his legs, stretching the ache out of them and staring dreamily at the ceiling.

That… just happened. This was reality. And Dean wasn’t trying to leave or looking at Sam like he was some kind of monster for even wanting it… 

Slowly Sam tilted his head to the side, and his heart panged at the way Dean was looking at him; like Sam was something sacred and awe-inspiring. It made color rush to his cheeks, to see the open adoration in his brother’s face that he knew he could never truly deserve.

_“No regrets.”_

Sam swallowed thickly at the deliberate way Dean said it, and wordlessly he turned onto his side, looping an arm around Dean’s waist possessively.

“No regrets,” he echoed softly, kissing Dean’s shoulder. The magnitude of what had just transpired was huge; Sam had no doubt that there would be some tricky navigation ahead for their relationship. But even knowing that there were going to be future renegotiations of their boundaries, their wants, their needs, their give-and-take as people and as family, Sam couldn’t for a second even consider wanting anything different.

* * *

“Okay then.” Dean was surprised at hell that he, that they both, were taking this in stride. But he wasn’t fighting it. Wasn’t gonna go looking for guilt. He’d been there, done that. What had it gotten him? Nuthin’

“So,” he lovingly ran his knuckles over the side of Sam’s face. “Don’t get mad, but I gotta know. You got some sort of rule about staying in bed for a certain amount of time before, you know, eating? I gotta tell you, sex makes me hungry.” He grinned at Sam. “Some people smoke, I eat.”

* * *

_“Some people smoke, I eat.”_

Sam snorted, pushing himself up and spanning his hand over Dean’s chest, propping himself up over his brother.

“In all fairness, I stopped you from cooking,” he countered, leaning down and pressing his lips against Dean’s, “So I guess I’ll let it slide this time.”

With a final kiss he laid back down, sighing and slinging an arm over his eyes.

“Go on,” he sighed, waving his free hand lazily, “Go on, glutton. Just make sure to save me some.”

* * *

“Yeah, you did,” Dean managed, before Sam’s lips were on his and he forgot all about his hunger.

He gave a laugh at the insult, but it fit him to a tee, so he had no retort. “I’ll bring it back to bed. I know I tired you out, and you’re sick, and I don’t want you to keel over and…” he continued, tongue in cheek, as he made his escape from the bed.

He’d never been this happy. Not ever.

* * *

Sam tuned out Dean’s jabs with practiced ease, letting his mind wander sleepily. He listened to Dean putter around the room, sliding his boxers back on and resuming his mission for food.

It had been one hell of a week, there was no denying that. And considering they hunted monsters for a living that was saying something.

Slowly Sam rolled onto his side, opening his eyes and watching Dean cook. His eyes traced from his brother’s tasseled hair down his pretty, smooth back, over his boxer-covered ass (an ass that Sam was already envisioning would look amazing with his cock in it) and down the curve of his bowlegs.

 _So beautiful_ , he thought with a small smile.

He didn’t know how, in a life that had been handing him bad card after bad card for so long, he suddenly found himself lucky enough to have this; have Dean, in all the ways he had only dreamed about before. But he was going to hold on tight and cherish every minute of it.

It was the last thought he had before allowing himself to drift off into sleep, the late afternoon sun shining warm in the room and the comfortable sound of Dean, of home, surrounding him.


End file.
